


Demons Lay In Waiting

by Daecyan_Shikoba



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, False Memories, Gen, Memory Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daecyan_Shikoba/pseuds/Daecyan_Shikoba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their memories, of the last day, the last week, the last few months. Played with. Manipulated. Buried beneath false ones. Twisted. Pointing them in the wrong direction, removing from their minds something fatally important: the alpha pack is <em>not their only enemy.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons Lay In Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> I did a thing. I don't really know what this is. I'm supposed to be working on my auction fic, and, you know, my other WiP. But, well, I wrote this instead. The inspiration for this just kinda struck me. I blame [ this](http://septemberpoems.tumblr.com/post/53179373503/okay-ive-been-viewing-chaos-rising-frame-by-frame-and) meta/theory for the basic premise/idea. 
> 
> **contains some spoilers for season 3**
> 
> Sterek is implied/strongly hinted at only.
> 
> (Also, all errors are my own for I have no beta, ever, for anything I write. o.O I'm not quite sure how that makes me feel.)

_|demons lay in waiting|_

“Do you think it’s... Possible? That, they, um, that they can do that? Y’know, take memories, implant false ones, alter everything?” Stiles messed with his phone, keeping his eyes averted as he posed the question.

 

Scott looked up from his book, his face scrunched up in confusion. “Who?”

 

Stiles frowned down at his hands, pocketed his phone. “The alphas?” He looked up, his brow drawn down in confusion. “Who else would I be talking about?”

 

“Oh,” Scott shrugged and closed the book, setting it on his desk and turning to focus fully on Stiles. “I don’t know, really. How would they?”

 

“Well,” Stiles chewed on his bottom lip a moment and ran a hand through his hair. “I dunno, really. It’s just, I have this feeling, you know? Like, like we’re missing something vital, but at the same time we know it. We just, we can’t remember it. Because - I don’t know, because we don’t _remember_ that we know it.”

 

Scott scratched the back of his head absently, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know, man. That sounds incredibly complicated. I mean, how would they go about it? Is it, I dunno, a matter of removing the memories or burying them underneath false ones?”

 

“I don’t know.” Stiles groaned and pressed his thumbs against his eyelids. “Maybe a bit of both? Everytime I try to figure out what feels so wrong about everything, I get a massive headache.” He massaged his temples with another groan. “I mean, I guess it could be because this whole situation is fucked six different ways to sunday and a huge pain in the ass in general, but. I feel like there’s maybe more going on.”

 

“We could ask Derek,” Scott suggested. “He might know? Like, I know he doesn’t know everything about alphas and what they’re - him included - capable of doing, but he might know something about _this_.”

 

Stiles scuffed his hands through his hair again, tugging on the strands a little in frustration. “That’s just...that’s just _it_. I’m ninety-nine percent certain that he _does_ , and that he’s talked about it before. I feel like we’ve all discussed it before, maybe, like. And _Deaton_ , he might have some idea.”

 

He growled in frustration and jumped up to pace across Scott’s bedroom. “None of this feels right, Scott. I feel _wrong_ , like something incredibly important was ripped from me, something that all of our lives depend on, but I don’t know _what_.”

 

“C’mon,” Scott said and pushed himself out of his desk chair. “Let’s go talk to Derek, find out what he knows. We can go to Deaton, too, if we need.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles sighed heavily and followed Scott down to the jeep. “I hate feeling like something’s missing.”

 

Scott hummed in agreement and hopped into the passenger seat. “I’m with you there, though usually I’m missing social cues and the majority of your sarcastic wit.”

 

Stiles laughed despite himself and started the jeep. “What even are social cues, Scott?”

 

“Good question,” Scott grinned and reached over to mess with the radio.

 

“Maybe we could ask Lydia, she probably knows what they are,” Stiles matched Scott’s grin and pulled onto the road, turning the jeep in the direction of Derek’s loft.

 

There was a slick, oily feeling at the back of his mind, thick like black tar. It’d been there for days - months, maybe, but he couldn’t be sure - and at first the feeling was so subtle Stiles hadn’t noticed it. But there were things he kept coming across, tiny details that triggered the sensation of deja vu to a point it was maddening. He’d spent hours trying to figure it out, trying to piece together the puzzle, but it was like working with half the pieces missing.

 

And then there was the corkboard next to his desk, with pictures of Heather’s body he’d stolen from his father’s files, along with crime scene photos of other bodies, all of them killed in the same way. Stiles _knew_ there was something more that connected them other than the manner of their death, and that he knew exactly _what_ that connection was. He’d stared at the stupid board, swallow around the lump in his throat whenever his eyes strayed to the picture of Heather’s face, and tore at his hair trying to figure it all out for hours at a time.

 

When the jeep pulled up to Derek’s loft, Isaac was sliding out of Derek’s new car - everything about that was weird - and carrying a box of pizza. He paused when he saw them, one eyebrow arched in silent question and a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Scott bounded over to him like an enthusiastic puppy and Stiles rolled his eyes with an amused smirk.

 

“What brings you two over?” Isaac asked when Stiles reached them, and they made their way up to Derek’s loft together.

 

“Stiles has some questions for Derek about the alpha pack.” Scott explained with a shrug. “I figure Derek might know something.”

 

Isaac frowned. “Stiles, when did Scott find out about the alpha pack?” He halted on the stairs and glanced between the other two. “Did you tell him? Or did Derek?”

 

Scott’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, I’ve known about the alpha pack since the first day of school? Derek told me the day we rescued you from the hospital.”

 

Stiles stared between Scott and Isaac, his eyes darting back and forth frantically. “ _This_ , this right here!”

 

“Uh?”

 

“Dude, something is fucking with our minds!”

 

Isaac’s eyes went wide, and Stiles shouldered past the werewolves to race the rest of the way up the stairs. Scott scrambling after him, Isaac following them both a moment later. They were making a hell of a lot of noise, clattering up the stairs, and Stiles wasn’t at all surprised when he shoved his way into Derek’s loft and Derek was leaning against his desk with his arms crossed.

 

“What the hell, Stiles?” Derek growled, more out of exasperation than actual anger.

 

“Dude, can alphas manipulate memories, or remove them, or anything like that?” Stiles demanded, his heart a frantic staccato in his chest.

 

The thick, oily feeling in his mind felt like it was spreading out. He cringed against it, away from the sensation of it, and glared at Derek. Derek’s eyebrows were up at his hairline; he moved so he was standing fully upright, his arms dropping away from their crossed position over his chest. Scott and Isaac tripped into the room, and Stiles hadn’t even fully registered how fast he’d flown up the stairs to get there.

 

“I don’t know, probably?” Derek answered after a beat of silence.

 

Stiles made an outraged noise in the back of his throat and he reached up to tug on his hair. “ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles practically screeched, his heart rate skyrocketing.

 

Derek’s eyes widened further and he moved closer to Stiles in concern. Scott made a distressed noise and reached out to grip Stiles’ shoulder, turning his worried growl into a soothing sound to try and calm his friend down before he had a heart attack. Isaac watched silently, his eyes wide and a little frightened.

 

“Stiles,” Derek called, stepping in front of him and reaching out to wrap one hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, giving it a gentle squeeze, and the other to wrap around Stiles’ wrist, drawing his hand away from his head before he pulled his hair out. “Stiles, you need to calm down.”

 

“Calm down?” Stiles demanded incredulously, his voice cracking. “A bunch of raging douchebags with a power complex could be tampering with all our memories and you want me to _calm down?!_ ”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Derek snapped. “Otherwise we can’t try to figure out what’s going on, exactly, and how to fix it.”

 

Stiles gasped and bit down on his tongue. “Shit,” he muttered and shut his eyes tightly, shuddering under Derek and Scott’s soothing touch. “Alright, okay.”

 

“You need to tell me what’s going on, Stiles. Why do you think the alphas are messing with our memories?” Derek asked once Stiles’ heart slowed to less dangerous levels and he opened his eyes to meet Derek’s gaze. He squeezed the back of Stiles’ neck reassuringly when Stiles hesitated, earning a startled sound from the the back of the human’s throat and a blush spreading across his jaw.

 

“Um,” Stiles swallowed and dropped his gaze to study Derek’s shoulder. “Well, Isaac doesn’t recall Scott ever being made aware of the alpha pack in the first place.”

 

Derek shot a look over to Scott, and then over to Isaac, before focusing back on Stiles. Stiles fidgeted under his gaze, and Derek reluctantly moved his hand away from Stiles, putting a bit more space between them. Isaac frowned at them, and Scott stared between Derek and Stiles like he didn’t understand why Derek was so concerned in the first place. Everything about the situation made Derek uneasy.

 

Well, uneasier.

 

“Also, I, uh, don’t remember us ever getting comfortable enough with each other for, um, casual, non-threatening-slash-pain-inducing touching.” Stiles cleared his throat and licked his lips nervously.

 

“But you and Derek were practically cuddling last night,” Isaac frowned. “You fell asleep on him while reading over the notes you brought over after school.”

 

“What?” Stiles choked.

 

“You like Derek?” Scott asked, his eyebrows shooting up to meet his hairline.

 

Derek clenched his jaw and forced back the rising panic. “You don’t remember any of that?”

 

“No,” Stiles said, voice strangled. “What I remember is going straight home after school and doing my homework. The last time I was over here, it was to tell Derek that - “ He cut himself off with a fierce frown.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t remember,” Stiles mumbled, his shoulders drooping in defeat. “That... It was the reason I started wondering about this in the first place, because whatever I told Derek had something to do with Heather and the others’ deaths.”

 

“Who?” Derek asked, then shook his head. “I don’t remember you saying anything about her or anyone else dying.”

 

Stiles slumped further and stumbled over to the couch, dropping down onto the lumpy cushions like he was a puppet and somebody had cut the strings holding him up. Derek watched him for a long moment before moving to sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. Isaac and Scott moved closer to the couch, standing close enough to reach out and touch if need be.

 

“I don’t understand why they’d bother messing with us like this,” Stiles muttered and covered his face with his hands. “What purpose does this serve?”

 

“It scrambles us up enough that we have to spend time figuring out who remembers what and if what someone remembers is an actual memory. It gives them even more time to make their move, and it makes it easier for them to turn us against each other.” Derek grumbled and pressed his knee against Stiles’ comfortingly, the gesture so unconscious that Stiles knew it was something normal.

 

Or potentially normal.

 

(Derek and Isaac’s memories of Stiles and Derek growing closer could be false.)

 

(Stiles didn’t really want them to be.)

 

“Are you sure they can do this, though?” Scott asked after a long moment of heavy silence. “I mean, I didn’t really know this was even possible, that our memories could be tampered with like this.”

 

Stiles glanced at Scott through his fingers. “Didn’t they do it to Isaac, though? To keep him from remembering that he’d found Erica and Boyd?”

 

Derek made a small, hurt noise and clenched his fists. “Peter was able to tap into the memory, but it was too hazy for him to get any real information.”

 

“We had to go to Deaton. He made you hold me down in an ice bath so he could put me in a trance,” Isaac added, watching Derek. “I don’t really remember much of that, though. Just that Stiles was there with you, and you refused to believe that Erica was dead.”

 

“I was there for that, too,” Scott frowned and moved closer to Isaac.

 

Stiles moved his hands from his face and glanced up at the light hanging overhead. “All of us were there, bar Peter because no one likes him.” He turned his gaze to Derek, meeting his eyes for a moment before glancing up at Scott and Isaac. “The whole thing was weird.”

 

“You kept panicking about being found and, well, it sounded more like you’d meant they found you _at the clinic_ , instead of being found while you were in the bank?” Scott frowned and hunched his shoulders, a chill crawling up his spine.

 

Isaac moved in until his arm pressed against Derek’s shoulder, unnerved. Derek furrowed his brow, disappearing into his thoughts, and Scott sat down beside Stiles on the couch. Stiles glanced around nervously, a growing sense of paranoia. It felt like they were being watched (his mind and the hours spent hopping from one wikipedia page to the next supplied the term scopaesthesia) and he shivered under the sensation. Like an ice cold trickle of water sliding down his back, raising the small hairs on his arms and the back of his neck.

 

“I don’t think the alphas did this.”

 

“Hey guys, was it supposed to storm today?” Stiles asked at the same time Derek spoke. They all glanced over to the window, out at the darkening sky. Derek’s words registered in Stiles’ brain a moment later, and he jerked his gaze back to Derek. “What do you mean you don’t think the alphas did this?”

 

Derek met Stiles’ eyes, then glanced up at the light bulb overhead. It was flickering, like the lights at the clinic had done when Deaton was asking Isaac questions, diving into Isaac’s subconscious to sort through his memories. Stiles followed Derek’s gaze, his face pulling into a confused, slightly scared frown.

 

“What the hell is going on?”

 

“Didn’t you tell me something else was going on, when we were in the hospital morgue?” Scott asked suddenly, his gaze snapping back to Stiles. “You said something about threefold deaths, how the victims weren’t random killings, that they were sacrifices.”

 

Stiles met Scott’s eyes, his heart jumping into his throat and the oily feeling in his mind sending a shudder down his spine. “Do you - “

 

\---

 

Stiles groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, glancing up at Scott’s bed. Scott was sprawled across the top, blankets shoved down to the foot of the bed and his face smashed into the pillow. Stiles huffed and sat up fully, pressing the heel of his palm into his eyes when the motion set of a sharp spark of pain shooting through his head. When he felt like he could open his eyes without crying tears of blood, Stiles glanced over to Scott’s desk.

 

Their research on the alpha pack was still there, half-done. Stiles bit back a frustrated scream, raking his fingers through his hair before pulling his phone out to text Derek about what Boyd remembered, and if Cora knew anything more.

 

Like what, exactly, it was they had planned.

  
(The fact that he couldn’t remember falling asleep the night before was shrugged off. It was normal for him to pass out in the middle of research, especially if he’d gone a couple days with little to no sleep.)

**Author's Note:**

> [ Scopaesthesia is probably not an actual scientific term; I blame wikipedia.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychic_staring_effect)
> 
>  
> 
> *scuttles back to my other fics*


End file.
